Men want a girl who looks like a boy. They want to protect her but she must be a survivor. And she must come...like a train...but with...elegance.
Yeah. I'm the fly in the soup. I don't like it any better than you do. Flies don't like being swamped in soup, especially when it's hot.
D'you think he would have thought ahead like that?" said Henry. "Assuredly," said Will. "The man's a strategist." He tapped his temple. "Like me.
...and specimens like this confirmed there had been some kind of divine rule in the universe because no natural selection process was up to the task of creating something like him. This was some god’s, somewhere’s, handiwork.
I don't like people--much. This kind, I mean. And they don't like me at all, as a rule. Maybe the latter explains the former.
Creamy and leggy, with long azure hair and the eyes of a silent-movie star, she moved like a poem and smiled like a sphinx.
It would be fun,” Skulduggery nodded. ”I like kicking Wreath in the face. I haven't had a chance to do it nearly as much as I'd like.
Now I feel like James Bond. Suave and intelligent, breaking all the codes while looking fabulous.
For the first time I could remember, I felt weak, woozy and stupid— like a human-being. Like a very small and helpless human-being.
But sometimes shame is a more powerful engine than rage. Like rage, it burns hot; and like rage it tends to consume its own furnace.
I felt the human disease that is ignorance suddenly leave my body. Just like that. Like a hot, desperate piss after a long car ride.
An hour before his world exploded like a ripe tomato under a stiletto heel, Myron bit into a fresh pastry that tasted suspiciously like urinal cake.
Tell me this. What is it with men and feeling like they have to act like self-destructive superheroes whenever trouble shows up?” “It’s the only way we know how to love.
I looked at him like a stranger, someone I’d never seen before, and he looked at me like I’d been lost to him for a thousand years and finally found.
The nights were long, like the braids of a pretty girl, and the days were short, like a girl's sense. ("The North")
Then the Skopamish showed up. Their chests heaving, rotting eyes like dull raisins in their skulls. Their eyes found mine like a witching wand seeking water.
Life is a bowl of cherries just make sure you spit out the pits
Let us see rather that like Janus—or better, like Yama, the Brahmin god of death—religion has two faces, one very friendly, one very gloomy...
Anarchy is like custard cooking over a flame; it has to be constantly stirred or it sticks and gets heavy, like government.
You're doing it again. Using reason to argue faith. Can't be done. Like playing croquet with a crochet hook. Sounds something like the right tool for the job, but isn't.
You like them," I realized. Noah's eyebrows lifted in question. "Like as people." "As opposed to...furniture?" "They're my PARENTS." "That is my understanding, yes.
